Portland
by WichitaRed
Summary: Entertainment - views on it splits the guys for the night. But, one of them gets a lot more adventure than they planned on and a bit of a reminder of where they came from.


Portland by Wichita Red

"I pray my dearest your heart shall be a garden where forget-me-not remembrances shall grow forevermore." The actor warbled sinking to the floor. The wooden sword jammed under his arm jerking dramatically as he flopped and flopped in his death throws.

Scrubbing a hand across his face Hannibal Heyes said, "This is terrible."

"Shhh." Hissed Kid Curry, watching every movement on the stage.

"You complain when I read Henry the V aloud and you want to watch this gibberish?"

Kid leaned close to his partner, his eyes never leaving the stage, "If you don't like it, leave."

Heyes looked to the actress wrapped, barely, in a Greek toga, flower petals drifting down from her blonde hair as she knelt over her now dead lover. "You realize there are gals over at the saloon."

"I swear, you don't shut your pan or leave, I'm going to escort you out myself." Kid said turning a steely gaze on his partner.

"Fine." Heyes replied standing, putting on his pristinely clean brown bowler. "Have it your way."

Curry did not even bother to look up and with a shrug, Heyes turned on his heel exiting the seating row and then the theatre even faster.

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Back in their hotel room, Heyes was still muttering to himself, "Amazes the hell out of me how he lets a pretty face turn him 'round." Dressed now in his far more comfortable everyday clothes, he patted his pockets, making sure he had everything. "Well, he can stay at that pitiful excuse for entertainment. I'm going to hunt up some players who don't understand the odds of being dealt an inside straight."

Halting on the bottom step of his hotel Heyes frowned at the misty clouds rolling up from the bayside streets. Out on the walk, he was focusing on his footing on the wet bricks when a thin man rushed by grasping a carpetbag to his chest. He came so close, the pair of them brushed against each other. Placing a hand over his wallet pocket Heyes spun to watch the man only to see him disappear in the fog. The hairs along his neck rose up rigid sending a chill down his back he stepped closer to the buildings keeping them snug to his left side, even as his right hand drops down to the gun tied to his thigh. 'Why'd I let Kid talk me into coming to Portland? I've heard plenty of rumors about this town and….' Not liking where his thoughts were trailing he shook his head, his long-legs extending into a faster walk.

At the corner, standing beneath a gas lamp, he found its garish bright light reflecting off the wet stones only made him feel more alone. 'Maybe I should have waited on Kid.' He considered peering at the impenetrable wall beyond the lamp, then with a snort, he threw back his shoulders striding into the fog. Once away from the lamp's yellow glow, he found he could actually see better and on down the street he spied a saloon.

Climbing the saloon's steps, Heyes felt the eeriness plaguing him fade away like the vestments of a bad dream. Pausing he looks up reading, Erickson's emblazoned above the threshold and with one final look at the indistinct street below, he shrugs walking in. It is loud inside, the place is crowded and a picking band plays on a small stage. The poker tables have several ornate gas lamps hanging over them but for rest of the building the owner is stingy with his use of gas, leaving the large room draped in dark shadows. From the long well polished bar, Heyes surveys the poker tables waving to the bartender, he calls, "Bourbon, the good stuff."

"Thirty cents." The bartender states holding out his right hand. A full highball glass still clasped in his left.

Handing off the coins, Heyes accepts his drink and nodding toward the felt tops asks, "Honest games?"

"Mr. Erickson runs a clean place." As the bartender says this, the two men hear a derisive snort, they both turn to look at a saloon girl whose dark hair falls in waves about her shoulders, and seeing her, Heyes tilts his head, arching an eyebrow.

"Doreen." The bartender barks. "I believe you've better things to do."

Fear moves swiftly across her face and shifting she lays a hand on Heyes' arm, "Buy a lady a drink?"

"Sure." He replies laying three dimes on the bar and her drink appears quickly. Seeing how clear the liquid is in her glass, he shakes his head.

All the while, she has been eyeing him from his western hat to his stovepipe boots and she asks, "Ain't you a bit far from the range?"

"Change of scenery." He replies. Rolling his back into the bar so he can have a better view of the poker games and seeing no empty seats, he frowns.

Searching his face, she sidles up closer, "You here alone?"

He does not answer.

Watching his dark eyes skip from one table to another she steps closer, her voice husky, "Hey Sugar I could show you a change of scenery upstairs."

He does not answer.

Her nose wrinkles and she pushes herself up against him, "Hey cowboy you hear me?"

Pulling his attention back to her, he looks down one dimple softly flickering on his cheek, "Apologize Ma'am I suppose I wasn't listening."

"That's for sure." She smiles empting her glass, "And, it's Doreen, Sugar. I was asking if you was alone?"

He nodded, taking a drink, enjoying the smooth warmth of good bourbon rolling down his throat.

"Buy me another drink, Sugar?"

He grinned tightly, "Well you see _Sugar_, I believe you could get the same from the pump and it wouldn't put me out no thirty cents."

Her brow bunched, her lips pressing tightly together and Heyes laughed. "I know - house rules."

"Well yeah." She licked her lower lip, slipping in under his arm, fingers trailing down his flat stomach coming to rest on his well-worn holster belt. "So you want to go upstairs."

Stepping away flashing his dimples, he shook his head, "Not tonight." Taking another swig from his glass, his eyes trailed back to the tables. "Not in the mood."

Reaching out a finger, Doreen touched his face where she had seen the dimple dancing, "Bet I could put you in the mood."

"I am positive you could." He grinned capturing her hand and kissing it, "But like I said not tonight." And releasing her, he walked away.

Doreen's hands went to her hips, her gray eyes narrowing, "Hey Matt." The bartender moved closer as she watched Heyes circling the room, his entire attention on the poker players. "He's alone."

Matt nodded, "I will let the boys know." He said a hand slipping under the bar and just barely, primarily because the two of them knew to listen, they could hear the distant clang of an alarm bell.

Leaving the bar, Doreen strode toward a pair of men waiting near the barber's chair in the corner. She hesitated, looking once more to the handsome dark-haired cowboy, her breath choking in her chest. She glanced at the bar and shook her head, 'What does it matter…I gave him his chance."

Heyes edged by the tables, finally finding a spot near an ornately carved beam support he leaned into it, studying the players learning their ticks. As he watched, a confident contentment came to his face and when a player stood to leave. A real smile leapt into play. To reach the table, he needed to skirt about four large barrels parked in the way, stepping around them into the murky grayness, the floor disappeared beneath his boots.

His body reacted before his mind, balling up as if he had been launched from a saddle. He hit the ground hard, air rushing from his lungs in a whoosh. Rolling over, heaving and wheezing, he heard men approaching and with effort, he forced himself to his feet only to slam down in an unconscious heap before drawing his Schofield.

Next, he awoke the first thing he noticed were bodies pressed against him and the darkness. Unending darkness as if the night itself had swallowed him, sitting up he choked himself with his hat's stampede string. Loosening its hold on his throat, he scurried to a sitting position. Men grunted, shifting giving him room. 'My boots, gun, knife, and wallet are gone.' His chest tightened and he asked, "Where am I?" His voice sounded unusually angry and loud, to him and he felt more then heard men pull back. Withdrawing further from him.

"Yer be hearin' of dem deadfalls and such. De missin' in Portlan'?"

Heyes froze, one word bolting into his mind, 'Pa?' He licked his lips. 'Hell, they must have hit me in the head harder than I thought.'

"Cat got yer tongue nigh?" The voice asked. "If'n yer is scared, dat be fine for now is gran' time to be scared. Yer been shanghai'd. Yer have. Yer to be sold to them Opium Ships."

Heyes thought, 'Shanghaied Me!? Well I ain't being sold by anyone.' Standing up, he asked, "Where's the door?"

He heard men pulling back even further and a voice cool with disapproval said, "Do not be walking on me."

"Me neither, my leg be already killin' me." Squawked another.

Breathing deeply, Heyes wished he had not as the stench of the unwashed men, piss and death filtered into his lungs. A wave of weakness rolled over him, shifting he laid his cheek against the cold, rough cement wall. 'I'm in deep this time and my heads so addled, I'm hearing Pa. I wish Kid were here.' Then he pushed up right, 'No I don't. I've gotten myself into this hell and I am glad he ain't here. But, I do wish he knew where to look for me.' Placing the palm of his hand against the wall, he asked again, "Where is the door?"

"Why? You figure they do not have a lock upon it?" a mocking mutter rang out clear as a church bell.

"Locks mean nothing to me." Heyes said in his outlaw leader's voice as he placed his socked foot against the man in front of him, "I am moving forward." The man did not move. Frowning, he felt down to his shoulder and as carefully as he could manage. He stumbled over him. The next man was awake and pulled back. He felt his leg rub by his own like one of the pythons of the jungle he had read of.

In this way, he edged himself around the room much to the disgruntlement of some until he found an iron-gate. The bars were triangular and grasping them, he thought 'Not designed to be pulled on. Well not a problem, I wouldn't use brute strength to free myself.'

Removing his hat, he ran a finger along under the silver studded hatband, grinning when he came upon the thin pieces of metal he kept there. Placing the picks into the lock, they chinked. He raised his head never realizing how loud they were.

"That be yer Laddy?"

Heyes ignored Pa's voice, focusing harder on the lock beneath his sensitive fingers. "I don't know about all of you. I ain't waiting around to become someone's property. So be ready. Wake the others. I will have this lock open in no time at all."

Behind him, the square stone room filled with noise as men were shaken, slapped and groggily brought to life. He could feel them bunching at his back. Feel their hot panting on his neck. The lock slid open. Safely tucking himself back from the door against the wall, he said, "It's unlocked."

The mass behind him surged forward with a triumphant yell. Slamming into the gate like maddened cattle, the hinge grated, screeching as it flung wide.

"I cannot be believin' yer did it Lad-"

However, for Heyes, his Pa's words were drowned out by screams and the sounds of men hitting the ground. Suddenly, he knew why they had taken their shoes. "Glad I held back."

"Me too." Pa's voice said.

"I don't mean to sound disrespectful but I hope you stop talking to me when I get out of here." Heyes whispered.

"Why is dat?"

Heyes smiled looking up, "Because hearing you, means I'm not right in the head."

"Yer be thinkin' I be a spectral." The voice said.

"Of course you are - One from my own mind."

Then something from the darkness touched him. A strangled cry escaped his throat before he could close it off.

"Lad easy, I be real."

Heyes put his hands to his face gasping, "Mother of God!" and then happily grabbed hold of the man. "I thought I was losing my mind."

"Naw. Naw yer ain't." The man said, patting Heyes on the shoulder. "The only spectrals here is from the poor dead souls left down here an' I think we should get movin' so we do not become one of'em."

Heyes imagined too many had died down here and swallowed tasting bitterness in his throat. He could clearly hear the men who had pushed past him cursing the tunnel floors for being covered in broken glass. "We need to wrap our feet. They stole my knife. Yours?"

The Irishman laughed, "They missed mine."

"Good." Edging across the room, Heyes stumbled upon a body and feeling of it he shuddered, it was stiff, cold, bloated. "I am ready for your knife. Follow the sound of my voice."

"Doin' just that Lad."

"What is your name?"

"Patrick Giddings and, I've done heard every Patty joke made."

"Suppose you have." Heyes said feeling Patrick's hand running down his arm and a small jack knife placed in his hand. "Thank you." Heyes knelt, cutting the legs of the pants off the dead man and doubling the heavy canvas, they bound up their feet. "You ready Patrick?"

"I am. Believe I could run like Lucifer were behind me."

"Good because, it won't take long for someone to come investigate all this noise."

"I think the good Lord sent you Laddy. What be yer name?"

Slipping into the corridor with Patrick's hand on his shoulder, the thought of giving him an alias flickered through Heyes's mind when instead he matter-of-factly said, "Hannibal."

"An' I thought me Ma had stuck me wi' a hard name here in the Americas."

Out in the tunnels, it was just as black as the cell they had escaped. Hustling forward, they were accosted with demands, begging, even screams as they passed men crumpled on the ground and fingers imploring at them from cells. Their torment deviled Heyes. He wanted to stop. He kept on. Shouts of alarm echoed down the tunnel. He moved faster. His fury building. The pleading rose in volume as the kidnappers neared. He moved faster. Patrick close behind him.

"These shanghai'ers should burn in the deepest pit of hell."

"I agree wi' yer." Patrick replied. "Wi'out any absolution."

Glass crunched beneath their padded feet, clinging to the cloth. Heyes wondered how much longer the fabric would hold up. Moving silently on, they clung tight to the tunnel wall.

Men were getting closer, glass shattering beneath their hard booted soles.

Coming upon an unbarred room Heyes ducked in pulling Patrick with him.

Running, limping footsteps passing by - heaving panicked breathing.

The kidnappers closing in. They had the advantage of shoes over their prey and they were moving swiftly. The lanterns they carried swinging as they ran, sending spiraling, drunken beams down the tunnel.

Crouching low, Heyes and Patrick listened to the tormented screams of men being recaptured.

"We must report dis hell hole." Patrick whispered.

"Shhh."

They sat listening until the cacophony of horror faded only to hear gruff laughter pass directly by them.

"First escape we've had in sometime, heh Bill."

"Yeah." A sinister laugh. "They didn't make it far though. Did they?"

"Never do." Replied the first voice.

And, the two men began laughing nastily, the sound of them fading away.

Peeking out, Heyes saw their lanterns wink out as they went around a bend. Sinking back against the cold wall, guilt tugged at him. Until at last, with a sigh Heyes whispered, "Patrick would you go to the law – without men?"

The silence between them drew out.

Heyes furiously turned over ideas, searching for a tale to silver-tongue Patrick. However, nothing plausible appeared. He felt wrung out. Exhausted. Besides, laying out a string of lies when he was not even certain they would escape, somehow felt wrong.

"Hannibal."

"Yes Patrick."

"Suppose knowin' 'oy to open locks would put yer on the opposite side of the law. 'Ehs?"

"You could say that." Heyes said standing, feeling Patrick do the same.

"I am sayin' dat Lad. Yer ain't answerin' me."

Heyes leaned out the door. The tunnels were quiet. "Alright, I'm a thief and I have the skills to prove it too." He said placing Patrick's hand back on his shoulder, "Let's get moving."

Keeping the wall to his left, Heyes kept moving. In the darkness, time and distance evaporated. They kept moving. When rounding a curve, Heyes spied a crease of light down a narrow hall. Walking faster, he stubbed his toe – hard. A hissed, "Damn it!" escaped. "Patrick, steps."

Climbing them, the felt a door and putting their shoulders to it, the door slowly rose on silent hinges.

The ghostly light from the gas lamps wreathed in fog seemed brighter then the noonday sun to their light deprived eyes. Shielding their eyes, they stepped up into an empty alley right off a main throughway.

Heyes looked into the black pit, "To think right below - all this living going on." He said as a carriage rattled by filled with jolly nighttime revelers.

"I been a copper for years me lad an' I is still surprised the tunnels captured me."

Heyes spun around at Patrick's declaration. His mouth dropping open, as he truly saw how large the man was. Before he could bolt, Patrick had hold of him.

"Easy Hannibal." Patrick moved in close. Heyes vision was filled by Patrick's wrinkle wrapped face and bright blue eyes. Then his large leathery hands were cupping Heyes' face with the gentleness of a Father. "Ay, Hannibal, I believe de Lord sent yer to save me. Be easy. I will not be huntin' yer tonight, my lil' thief, nor any night." He turned Heyes face a bit to the side. A blush like a shadow raced across Hannibal Heyes' angled features. "I see Irish in yer, Lad. Black Irish yer is."

Patting Heyes' right cheek, he released him, to stumble back until the outlaw had his shoulders against the building nearest him

"Yer have family with yer?"

"I do."

Patrick bent over removing the wrappings from his feet, "Nasty business wi' the glass."

Heyes nodded agreement and set to removing his too.

Tossing the rags down the staircase, Patrick straightened with a smile, "Then I suggest yer gather up Curry an' yer two get on out of Portlan'."

A bland smile played back and forth across Heyes' mouth.

"Ay' I know who yer be and know who yer family be." Patrick smiled creating a wrinkled mess of his face. "And, don't be thinkin' of usin' yer Irish charm on me. It'll do yer no good. Has not anyone tole yer it don't work on yer own countrymen?"

Heyes' dark lashes shadowed his cheeks as he looked down, shaking his head. Then he saw the stairwell and his thoughts darkened, 'I should go back with a light and open every cell. Shoot the bastards who carry the keys.'

"Let dem thoughts go." Patrick half-turned Heyes toward the street. "Me and my boys, will deal wi' these men. Yer cannot be here."

Heyes nodded, blood pounding in his temples.

"Yer did yer part."

Heyes' nosed wrinkled up and he spit on the ground.

"Yer did." Patrick shoved him toward the street. "Nigh let me do mine."

Sinking his hands in his pockets, Heyes walked away, glancing back once to see the large man standing with a hand upraised in a salute and then the fog swirled masking him. Making him one of the ghosts in the night.

Hurrying down the street, the stones were cold and damp beneath his feet. In short time his socks were wet. A block from his hotel, he spied his cousin approaching opposite of him. There was a bounce in the Kid's step as he plowed through the fog, sending it swirling away from him. His bowler rode at a jaunty angle and an elated smile bedecked his face. Well it did until he saw his partner.

"What happened to you?" Kid blurted rushing up.

Hannibal Heyes stood straighter, wiping a hand across his face. "Had a busy night."

"I'd say." Kid responded plucking the bent up black hat from his partner's head, pushing the crown out and straightening the brim.

"It's good to see you Kid." Heyes said a swirl of emotions running through him.

"Where the hell is your boots and holster?" Kid responded his eyes narrowing taking on a fierce gleam.

Taking his hat back, Heyes twirled it in his hands before putting it on. "Like I said, I had a busy night." Then throwing an arm about Kid's shoulders he pulled him close. "I sure am glad to see you."

"What happened?" Kid peered at his partner from the corner of his eye noticing a very thin trickle of dried blood behind his ear and down onto his neck. "Damn it Heyes what happened!?"

"I took care of myself - is what happened!"

Kid pulled backs seeing a brand of pain he had not read in his cousin's dark eyes for many, many years. "Heyes?"

"I took care of myself." Heyes directed them up the stairs into the hotel. "And in the morning I want to purchase boots and weapons and leave this town. I never want its dirt on me again."

"Hannibal?"

He patted Kid on the shoulder. "I'm thrilled to be here. Thrilled to see you and let's leave it at that."

Annoyance darkened the Kid's blue eyes and seeing it Heyes laughed, "Stop worrying." He playfully pushed against the Kid. "Did you succeed with that gal?"

Kid's face lit up, briefly, as he read the false bravado in his partner's face, deep lines of worry reappeared.

"Kid." Heyes opened the hotel door. "Tell me about your night."

"You going to tell me about yours?"

"Someday." Heyes said trotting up the stairs to their room. "But right now I want to hear about yours."

Watching him, the Kid shook his head, not seeing Hannibal Heyes the leader of the Devil's Hole Gang and one of the most wanted men in the West but his cousin. The one who always watched over him. He felt a rush of guilt, 'something happened and I wasn't there to do my job.'

From the top of the stairs, Heyes barked, "Stop!"

Kid did just that, looking about for a danger, his partner had spotted.

"Jed"

Kid looked to where Heyes stood at the top of the stairs.

"Stop worrying!" He ordered. "I'm fine." Turning he headed for their room and Kid resumed climbing the staircase. "Sides, I took care of you and _myself_- long before you became famous with that gun."

"Thought you said you felt better when I worry about you?"

"True." Heyes said throwing a grin back over his shoulder. "But you also need to remember, I can take care myself too." He flung open their hotel room. "If you want to take care of me…" He grinned largely.

Kid gave him a look that said I know I am going to regret this. "What?"

"Pour me a drink and tell me about your night."

Kid grinned back and they both let out a laugh.


End file.
